


The Ghosts of the Seven Gables

by Puddlebutt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon, Season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 21:56:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puddlebutt/pseuds/Puddlebutt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just after the Wendigo incident, Sam and Dean head to Salem, Mass to solve a curious case of ghosts with a hint of witches. Being together again, however, stir up old feelings between the brothers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sam

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic. Be nice!

They had just finished the Wendigo job and were somewhere in Nebraska, near the Iowa boarder – Sam wasn’t quite sure where they had finally stopped. The motel looked like any other; white sheets and comforters covered the beds and the walls were a sickly yellow.

            Sam sat at the miniature dining room table, searching Dad’s journal, trying to find any indication of where he might be at that moment. He needed to find him. Dad would have answers, he would know why Jess had been murdered the same way as his mother all those years ago. He had to. That’s why Dad had left, wasn’t it? To figure out what was going on.

            ‘Dean?’ Sam called, eyes falling on a page in the diary. ‘I think we need to go to Salem.’

            ‘Witches?’ Dean called from the bathroom. The door was always left open when he showered. Sam tried to ignore that. Why would Dean keep doing that, if not to say that it was all right for him to come in, too. But that was out of the question. They were older, different. They had grown away from that. Hadn’t they?

            ‘I don’t think so,’ Sam said. He went and leaned on the doorframe separating the bathroom and the main room. Dean liked the shower hot and the open door barely kept the steam at bay. That was one thing Sam didn’t miss about their showers; he preferred it lukewarm, and took a lot less time than Dean – well, he would have if it hadn’t been for Dean.

            ‘I’m not really sure,’ Sam went on. ‘Witches or ghosts, or both. But Dad didn’t seem to know, either.’

            Dean stuck his head out, shampoo lathered in his hair. He did that, kept the lather in as he let the water rush over his body. Maybe that was what kept his hair so shiny. ‘How do you get witches and ghosts confused?’ he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

            ‘There were witches involved,’ Sam said. ‘Sometime around the Witch Trials, but I think they’re just ghosts now.’

            ‘Can witches be ghosts?’ Dean said, with a shudder.  ‘That’s a scary thought.’

            ‘Dad couldn’t figure it out,’ Sam said. ‘We should go, do the job right.’

            ‘I thought you wanted to find him,’ Dean asked, tucking his head back behind the curtain.

Sam heard the flow of the shower muffle and figured Dean had finally decided to rinse out the shampoo. He closed his eyes – the mental image of the water pouring down on his brother filled his head. Quickly he opened them up again, lest he get too distracted.

‘I do want to find Dad, but we don’t know where he is,’ Sam said. ‘Who knows, maybe he’s in New England and we’ll catch up with him. I just need to keep busy.’

‘All right Sammy,’ Dean said. ‘We’ll go, sort out this ghost witch thing.’

‘Stop calling me that,’ Sam said, concentrating hard on not listening to the sounds of the shower.

‘Aw, but you get so cute when you’re annoyed,’ Dean replied.

Sam sighed. The little flirtations were getting to be annoying too. He wasn’t sure if his brother was just accustomed to speaking to him like that, or if he really meant it. ‘And hurry up in the shower. There’ll be nothing left of you soon.’ Sam went back to the table and started looking up what he could find on the House of the Seven Gables.

Dean took another ten minutes in the shower. ‘Sammy?’ Dean shouted.

‘What is it, Dean?’ Sam asked, his eyes shooting to the doorway, but his brother wasn’t in frame.

‘I forgot a towel,’ Dean said.

‘I promise not to look while you get one,’ Sam said, teasingly.

‘It’s cold,’ Dean complained. ‘Come on.’

Sam got up and went into the bathroom. The towels were hanging up on the opposite wall from the shower. Dean really had forgotten a towel. He grabbed one and turned back to his brother, who was smiling from behind the shower curtain.

‘Thanks, Sammy,’ Dean said, reaching out.

Sam just rolled his eyes as his brother let the curtain drop away from him and wrapped the towel around his waist. Dean stepped out and swatted Sam on the cheek. ‘Didn’t know I needed an audience to dry myself off.’

‘What?’ Sam said, snapping out of his daze. ‘Oh, right.’ He left the room, making sure to pull the door closed behind him. He didn’t snap it shut, however.

As he sat back down at the table, he could see a sliver of his brother’s side, not anything special, but just those quick glances of his thigh made Sam’s heart beat faster. He quickly turned to his laptop screen and concentrated on the words.

Sam was so determined not to pay attention to the outside world that he didn’t even notice when Dean leaned over his shoulder, their cheeks barely an inch away, and started reading the computer screen.

‘Hawthorne?’ Dean asked. Sam jumped and Dean cocked an eyebrow. ‘Scare you?’

‘I just – I didn’t realize you were right there,’ Sam said, leaning over to better be able to look at his brother. His eyebrows were raised and he had a deer-in-the-headlights look on his face. He let his breath out slowly.

‘I’ve been here for five minutes reading over your shoulder,’ Dean said simply. ‘So?’

‘Well,’ Sam said, setting back into his chair. Dean rested his arms on Sam’s shoulders and let his mouth fall gently in his hair. They hadn’t been that close in a very long time. Was this Dean trying to go back? They couldn’t. Sam didn’t know why he was resisting so much, it just seemed … different. Dean was all he had back then, he was everything. It seemed only natural that they would be together. But now … now that he had gone into the real world, met Jess, had an actual relationship, it didn’t seem like the right thing to do. On the other hand, Dean was again the only thing Sam had.

‘Hawthorne’s ancestors were big with the prosecution of witches, and it’s said that one of the witches cursed the family,’ Sam said, ignoring the pumping in his heart. ‘Now Hawthorne’s house was moved to the grounds in 1958 and it’s said that his and his son, Julian’s, ghosts haunt the grounds.’

‘So they’re still hanging around because they’re cursed?’ Dean asked.

‘Seems like it. There’s been a string of disappearances in the area, more than there has any right to be,’ Sam said. ‘I’ve always wanted to see a famous ghost,’ he added, a shadow of a smile on his lips.

‘Hawthorne’s famous?’ Dean asked. ‘What’s he famous for?’

Sam turned, forcing Dean’s arms to fall. He almost lost his balance, falling into Sam, but grabbed onto the back of the chair to steady himself. ‘You don’t know who Nathaniel Hawthorne is?’

Dean shrugged. ‘Should I?’

‘Nathaniel Hawthorne wrote the Scarlet Letter,’ Sam said, as if that was supposed to mean something to Dean. He knew his brother, knew that he wouldn’t know what that was, but still, it always surprised him how little Dean cared about culture.

‘Doesn’t ring a bell,’ Dean said. ‘Let’s go then.’ He left the motel room. 


	2. Dean

Dean drove over seven hours straight. Sam had stayed awake for the first hour or so, through Iowa, before succumbing to sleep deprivation. His head had fallen onto Dean’s shoulder and Dean didn’t want to disturb him, so there is stayed through Illinois and now, halfway into Indiana.

He had driven in this car so many times without Sammy beside him or in the backseat complaining. For two years it had just been him and dad. It had been good, never lonely or awkward, but he missed his brother. When they were younger Sammy would crawl into the backseat and fall asleep, not knowing where he would wake up. Dean found comfort in looking in the rearview and seeing him there. On quiet nights, when his dad was either asleep or too absorbed in research to pay him much mind, Dean found himself instinctually looking in the mirror, hoping to find Sammy.

There was peace in seeing his brother’s sleeping face next to him. It was one of the moments that Dean clung to, to keep himself going. Sure it was a bit lonely, but one glance over and a smile was on his face.

‘Where are we?’ Sam asked groggily. He quickly straightened up when he realized where he had rested his head.

‘Good morning sleeping beauty,’ Dean said, even though it was well passed nightfall. He glanced over – Sam was ignoring him, trying to figure out where they were. ‘We’ll be in Ohio in about an hour.’

‘Ohio?’ Sam asked. ‘That’s pretty far. Do you want me to drive for a bit?’

‘Don’t worry your pretty little head about that,’ Dean said. He had hardly even noticed how long it had been. ‘Besides, the way you drive it would take all night and day to reach Mass.’

‘You can’t drive the whole way,’ Sam said. ‘It’s over 24 hours from Nebraska.’

‘Watch me,’ Dean said.

‘Can we at least get something to eat? I’m starving,’ Sam said, his eyes again searching outside for some sign of a rest stop.

‘Sure thing Sammy,’ Dean said. He had stopped once for food, but, not wanting to disturb his little brother, it had been through a drive-thru.

They drove on for about a half an hour longer before coming up to a Biggerson’s Bar and Grill. The joy of America was that fast food stayed open even at one thirty in the morning.

 

Dean finally relented and let Sam drive around five, as they were reaching the end of the little strip of Pennsylvania between Ohio and New York.

‘At least we’re in the right region,’ Dean said as they passed each other in front of the car. He climbed into the seat normally occupied by Sammy.

‘It’s still about a ten hour drive through New York and Massachusetts,’ Sam replied.

‘Maybe the way you drive,’ Dean said, laughing.

‘Some of us like to obey the laws, Dean,’ Sammy replied. ‘I’m not that slow of a driver.’ Sam reached over and took out the cassette that was playing. He turned on the radio.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Dean asked. ‘You can’t just mess with a man’s sound.’

‘House rules, Dean. Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cake hole,’ Sammy said as he pulled out from the curb. A big smile was on his face.

Dean wanted to get mad, punch his brother in the arm, but seeing his brother smile that widely took away all those thoughts. He hadn’t seen him that happy since Jess.

It wasn’t more than fifteen minutes into the drive when Dean’s eyes started drooping.

‘You can sleep, y’know,’ Sammy said. ‘You drove nearly twelve hours. You deserve a rest.’

‘Yeah, maybe for just a minute,’ Dean said, letting his eyes fall shut and drifting off into dreamland, for far longer than he had wanted.

 

It had taken a long while after Sammy left for Dean to get into the habit of closing the door, more so because he often did it while his dad was still in the motel.

Dean had been showering with the door open since he was put in charge of taking care of Sammy – four years old. At first it was so baby Sammy could come and go into the bathroom at will, looking for his brother, or maybe not wanting to be in the scary motel room alone. It slowly grew into not wanting to leave Sammy alone, never having a barrier between then, never having to worry that he was getting into trouble or something was going to snatch him. Keeping the door open let Dean take incredibly long showers, free from the worry of having to protect his brother. He had always thought that once Sammy reached a certain age, the door need never be left open again. He was wrong. The door was never shut. He would leave it open to see if Sammy would ever bring it up, would ever shut the door on him, or to ask that Dean shut it – probably jokingly but secretly weirded out by the closeness Dean felt for his brother – but none of those ever happened. Sometime when Sammy was around twelve he developed a habit of sitting on the toilet while Dean was in the shower and just had conversations with him, oblivious to the fact that Dean was naked behind the curtain.

Sam started leaving the door open around then, too – but only sometimes. Why it was 50/50 Dean could only guess.

As he dreamt, Dean’s mind wandered into the past, to the summer of 1997. Sammy was fifteen and Dean was nineteen, or thereabouts. That was when the door being open ceased to be an issue.

‘Sammy!’ Dean had called, after turning off the boiling hot water. ‘Towel.’

‘Really Dean?’ Sam asked, but obligingly entered the bathroom and handed his brother a towel.

‘What?’ Dean said.

‘Sometimes I think you do this on purpose,’ Sam replied. He had turned his back to Dean.

Dean started drying off, still mostly concealed by the curtain, but, since his brother’s head was turned, he felt it unnecessary to make sure he was covered.

‘Maybe I do,’ Dean replied to his little brother. He laughed.

Sam turned, probably to throw him a snarky look, but his face fell to shock as he caught a glimpse of his brother’s naked form.

He wasn’t completely exposed; fortunately, the towel was covering the most important part from view.

‘You weren’t supposed to turn around, Sammy,’ Dean said as Sammy quickly turned back around and bolted out the door. Dean shrugged and continued to dry off.

After dressing he found his brother sitting on the couch, absorbed in the television. Dean grabbed a slice of pie and sat down beside him.

‘What are we watching?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Sam replied. Dean noticed that he was making a valiant effort not to break his gaze from the crappy motel television.

‘Just like the pretty colours?’ Dean asked. He shrugged and stuffed a fork full of cherry pie into his mouth.

‘Dean…’ Sammy started to say.

Damn, Dean thought. It had gotten awkward. _Why_ did he have to goat his little brother like that, with the towel. It was true, sometimes he did it on purpose. Just to test Sammy. It was all just to test Sammy. He wasn’t going to make the first move. What if he had misunderstood the flirty vibe between them, if it was just brotherly affection heightened by the fact that they were used to living in one motel room. If he left the signs there, and Sammy took the first step, then yes, he would definitely like to shove his brother up against a wall and do things to him that brothers probably shouldn’t do. But he wasn’t about to do those things without an invitation.

‘It’s alright, Sammy,’ Dean said. ‘You don’t need to say anything.’

‘I want to,’ Sam said, finally turning to look at his brother.

Dean sat up, put the empty pie plate on the table and looked seriously at his brother. ‘But you don’t have to, Sammy,’ Dean said. ‘I get it.’

‘You don’t, Dean,’ Sam said. ‘That’s the problem.’

It was all wrong, Dean thought. Of course he was mixing those signals up. Sammy was his _brother_. His _little_ brother. The boy he was supposed to protect, to keep innocent. How could he have thought those things about him?

He turned away, ashamed of himself. Dean felt his brother shift over to him, grab his chin, and turn him. Sammy had a light smile on his face. ‘It’s good, Dean,’ he whispered before leaning in and their lips met for the first time.

            As the butterflies settled in Dream Dean’s stomach, a horn blasted and brought him back to the world of the living. He jerked awake. It was morning and Sam was laughing from outside the car.

            He smiled to himself. He wanted his little brother back, the one from the dream. But, of course, Sammy had left, had gone into the real world. He wasn’t about to make the first move on Sam.


	3. Sam

‘We’re about 80 miles outside of Albany,’ Sam explained, once he was done laughing at his brother’s expense.

            ‘Almost there then,’ Dean said, rubbing his eyes. ‘Breakfast?’

            ‘Already got it,’ Sam said, holding up a bag of fast food breakfast to show his brother.

            Dean got out of the car and sat on the hood of the Impala. Sam sat next to him and handed out the food. He placed his cup on his knee as he took the wrapper off his breakfast omelet wrap … thingy.

            He had eaten half of it by the time Dean had finished the two that he brought for him. ‘Hungry?’ Sam asked.

            ‘There was pie in my dream,’ Dean said, sipping at his cup. ‘Always makes me hungry.’

            ‘Doesn’t that mean you’re always hungry?’ Sam asked, cocking an eyebrow.

            Dean was going to protest, but, after considering it, his shrugged and nodded. ‘Probably, yes,’ he said, smiling.

            ‘Are you driving the last 4 hours?’ Sam asked, grabbing the garbage they had made.

            ‘Tired of driving already, Sammy?’ Dean replied. Sam had placed the keys in his pocket, letting one of them dangle out for easy access. As he stood to go to the trash, Dean’s hand shot out and grabbed the keys from him.

            ‘I’ve been driving since five,’ Sam said.

            ‘You shoulda been there by now if not for your crappy driving skills, then,’ Dean said mockingly, sliding into the driver’s seat. He turned the car on and put his rock cassette back into the radio as Sam slid in beside him.

            Considering they had already been on the road for twelve hundred miles, Sam expected the last leg to drag on the most. He was surprised when the tiny little Massachusetts sign popped up on I-90. He was even more surprised when Dean zipped passed the broken down cemetery on Boston Street and entered the outskirts of Salem.

            ‘You awake, Sammy?’ Dean asked.

            ‘I’ve been awake the whole time, Dean,’ Sam replied, looking over to his smiling brother. ‘Where have you been?’

            Dean shrugged. ‘Don’t know, but something tells me that means I shouldn’t be driving,’ he said. He looked over with a smile, expecting Sam to be amused.

            He wasn’t. He rarely found Dean’s antics very amusing. Instead, Sam rolled his eyes.

            ‘So where are we going from here?’ Dean asked. ‘Where’s this Gables place?’

            ‘You need to make a left on Bridge Street,’ Sam said and guided Dean through the town of Salem to the House of the Seven Gables.

            ‘This is it?’ Dean asked as he parked the car in the parking lot of the grounds. There were a number of buildings. Sam recognized the main house, Turner-Ingersoll Mansion, and Hawthorne’s birthhouse. There was also a small boathouse and a large garden. ‘Doesn’t look very spooky.’

            Sam sighed. ‘It wouldn’t in the middle of the day,’ he said. ‘Come on.’

            ‘We’re going in now?’ Dean asked as Sam led him to the front doors. ‘I don’t want to pay to check out some old haunted house.’

            ‘Well, we need to talk to some of the people,’ Sam answered. ‘I’ll pay for your ticket.’

            Dean smirked. It wasn’t like he would have spent his hard earned money anyway. Sam went into the foyer of the Turner-Ingersoll Mansion. ‘We’d like a tour,’ he said to the petite girl behind the desk. She was wearing cut-off jean shorts, a plaid top, and had long, curly blonde hair.

            ‘Well hello,’ Dean said, leaning against the desk. ‘Will you be guiding us today?’

            She smiled. ‘Would you like me to?’ she asked, flirting back. She had a slight southern accent.

            ‘If you wouldn’t mind,’ Dean said, flashing his charming smirk.

            ‘You’re not from around here?’ Sam asked, trying to distract her before his brother got too flirtatious. He was used to his brother flirting and sleeping with girls, knowing full well that Sam knew what he was doing, but that didn’t mean he had to like it – even if they weren’t technically together any more.

            ‘What?’ she asked, turning to him. ‘Oh, no. I’m from Georgia, but I moved up here in high school. That don’t mean I don’t know my stuff when it comes to ghosts and witches.’

            ‘I bet you do,’ Dean said. She smiled.

            ‘About the tour?’ Sam asked, more forcefully. This is one part he didn’t miss about being with his brother.

            ‘Yup,’ she said. ‘Twenty-five for the both of you.’ Sam handed over the money. ‘Well now, let’s see,’ she said, stepping out from the desk. ‘Gather round.’

            The handful of people that had been loitering in the foyer came to her attention. Sam realized it would be a group tour, not really an opportunity to ask the tour-guide many questions.

            ‘Welcome to Salem, everyone,’ she said, addressing them. ‘And especially welcome to the House of the Seven Gables, the birthplace and home of Nathaniel Hawthorne. My name is Victoria, I’ll be guiding you this afternoon. I’m very pleased you have added this historic site to your list of places to explore while you’re here. Photography is strictly forbidden on the grounds and I hope you’ll respect that.’

            ‘That usually means they don’t want evidence of a hoax,’ Dean whispered into Sam’s ear as they started walking.

            ‘Dad thought that some serious stuff was going down here, we owe it to him to at least check it out,’ Sam replied.

            The followed her as she toured around the Mansion. Dean turned his EMT on and hid it inside his coat, trying to get a reading.

            ‘Definitely some Scooby-doo hoodoo going on,’ Dean said as the EMT went off.

            ‘What is that?’  Victoria said, looking curiously in their direction.

            Dean looked up and flashed a smile. ‘It’s nothing,’ he said. ‘Just my, uhh, just my radio. I accidently hit a few buttons.’

            ‘Your radio?’ Victoria asked. No one carried radios around.

            ‘He’s a baseball nut,’ Sam said. ‘He can’t go anywhere without the radio, in case he misses an important play.’ He laughed, nervously.

            ‘Just don’t let it happen anymore,’ Victoria said. She gave them a warm smile, similar to the flirtatious ones she gave Dean earlier.

            They continued on the tour, Sam and Dean looking for any other signs of paranormal activity.

            Victoria brought them out onto the grounds. ‘The Hawthornes, right, they were cursed?’ Dean asked as they made their way through the gardens to the Hawthorne house.

            ‘It’s believed so,’ Victoria answered. ‘Nathaniel Hawthorne’s great-grandfather, John Hathorne, was Justice of the Peace and County Judge in the early 1690s. He put many of the accused witches to death and some believe that a true witch cursed the family for his activities.’ She smiled. ‘But, of course, that’s all they were. Innocent people used as scapegoats and a means for Hathorne to exert power over Salem.’

            ‘No real witches, then? Or ghosts?’ Dean asked.

            She smiled nervously. ‘What are you getting at?’ she asked. ‘Of course not. It makes for a good story and definitely helps with tourism, but it’s just that.’

            ‘But you said you know your stuff,’ Sam said. ‘About witches and ghosts. You said it earlier.’

            ‘I do,’ she said. ‘I know the local histories and legends. But that doesn’t make it real. I’m sure you know about a great many things that are just stories.’

            Sam and Dean both laughed. ‘Not really,’ they said in unison.

            Victoria led them into the Hawthorne House and began retelling the life story of Nathaniel Hawthorne. ‘It’s believed that Nathaniel and his son Julian both haunt these grounds.’

            ‘Are they buried around here?’ Sam asked.

            ‘Actually no,’ Victoria said. ‘Nathaniel is buried at the Sleepy Hollow Cemetery in Concord and Julian is buried somewhere near San Francisco.’

            Sam looked uncertainly at his brother. Burial meant a high chance it would be them haunting the area, but neither grave was close enough to lend itself easily to a haunting. Add on the fact that there was a possibility of magical intervention.

            Sam exhaled and noticed that the air had dropped a few degrees. ‘Did it just get colder?’ Sam asked. Dean nodded.

            Victoria, on the other hand, looked disturbed. ‘I don’t know what you two are playing at,’ she said.

            ‘We’re not playing at anything, sweetheart,’ Dean said. ‘Just added a bit of fun.’

            Out of the corner of Sam’s eye he saw a child walk in the doorway to the left. He turned, but it was gone.


	4. Dean

‘She was too adamant,’ Dean said as they drove out of the parking lot. ‘She knows something. I don’t like it.’

            Sam sighed. ‘Are you saying that so you can justify asking her out on a date?’ he asked.

            Dean shrugged. ‘Couldn’t hurt,’ he said. She was cute, and there was a definite vibe between them … before she thought he was a raving lunatic who liked baseball a little too much. ‘But I also think she knows something.’

            ‘She could just be tired of all the supposed rumours?’ Sam suggested.

            ‘But she’s been there long enough to have noticed something going on,’ Dean replied. ‘There were definitely ghosts there.’

            ‘Yeah, but I don’t know who,’ Sam said.

            ‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’ Dean asked. ‘The Hawthornes!’

            ‘I’m not so sure,’ Sam said. ‘I thought I saw one of them, a little boy. Neither of them died young.’

            ‘Could be another one of them,’ Dean replied. ‘Or the curse. Maybe it turned him into a child ghost?’ That seemed ridiculous. ‘I don’t know. But we’re going to Concord to burn the only body we have before anything happens.’

           

            Dean drove the 45 minutes to Concord and they stopped at a restaurant for dinner as they waited until nightfall.

            ‘I don’t see why I have to dig the grave,’ Dean said through clenched teeth, when he was about 4 feet under.

            ‘You look so good doing it,’ Sam said. ‘You wouldn’t want to take that away from me, would you, Dean? Big bro?’

            There it was again. Making it seem like the old Sammy, the one who lay disheveled beside him at night. The one he would sneak an arm around when he thought Sam had already fallen asleep. He looked up and stared into the hurt eyes of Sam, his brother who had lost the love of his life.

            ‘You’re right, I’m gorgeous doing this, what was I thinking?’ Dean said, playing along. ‘All this sweat and dirt caked on my face. Who could resist. Maybe I should go over to Victoria’s right after. How could she turn me down.’

            Sam laughed. That was a good sign. He never used to take kindly to Dean’s talk of womanly conquests. ‘Maybe you should,’ Sam replied. His tone was a bad sign. He kept flip-flopping – Dean was getting tired of it. He just wished it would be one or the other. He liked to think he didn’t care which.

            A bit longer of digging and his shovel hit the coffin with a thud. He quickly removed the rest of the dirt and pulled it open before crawling out.

            Sam picked up the gasoline, Dean the salt, and they poured in unison. They put the containers down and Dean pulled out a pack of matches. ‘Let’s hope this settles the matter,’ he said, lighting all of them and tossing the cardboard into the grave. Immediately flames shot up, but simmered down to a light burn.

            Dean let Sammy drive back to Salem.

 

            The next morning, before Sammy woke up, Dean went to the motel office and picked up a copy of the _Salem Gazette_ and a cup of coffee. He opened up their motel room and took his first sip of the coffee. ‘God this is awful,’ he said, a bit to loudly considering his brother was supposedly still sleeping.

            ‘Dean?’ Sam asked, barely loud enough to hear. ‘What time is it?’

            ‘Morning princess,’ Dean said. ‘It’s around 9 or something. No rush.’

            Sam turned over in the bed and looked at his brother, a smile on his face. ‘What?’ Dean asked. ‘Trust me, you really didn’t want this coffee. It’s God-awful.’

            ‘Can’t be that bad,’ Sam said.

            Dean walked between the beds and sat down beside his brother’s legs. He placed a hand around them to help prop him up, letting the newspaper fall onto Sam. Sam slouched up and grabbed the coffee.

            ‘You’re right, that is terrible,’ Sam said, a smile on his face.

            ‘See,’ Dean said. He climbed over his brother and settled in beside him. ‘Let’s see what we have here.’ He grabbed the newspaper and unfolded it, but he only skimmed it.

            ‘Dean, look,’ Sam said, grabbing the newspaper.

            ‘What?’ Dean asked, annoyed.

            ‘There’s been a disappearance,’ Sam said. ‘Near the Hawthorne House.’

            ‘Of course we couldn’t have been that lucky,’ Dean said. ‘Why can’t you just burn a body and the ghost disappears? It can never be that easy. Ever.’

            ‘We wouldn’t have jobs if it were that easy,’ Sam said. ‘Maybe it wasn’t Nathaniel. Or maybe Julian is angry now that his father is gone?’

            ‘Or the witches,’ Dean said, remembering. ‘If it is the curse, maybe there’s still someone living who can break it. Some ancestor or something.’

            ‘How are we ever going to find that out?’ Sam asked.

            Dean just smirked. ‘Oh Sammy, you’re forgetting about my natural good looks and charm when it comes to the ladies,’ he said, getting out of bed. ‘I’ll go see if Victoria knows anything.’

            ‘Have fun,’ Sam said, only half-heartedly.

 

            Dean got into the Impala and drove out to the grounds. As was expected, it was blocked off and there were three police cars, with their patrons scouring the area for evidence.

            Dean scanned the area and his eyes landed on Victoria. He parked and went to her.

            ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked as her eyes fell upon him. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’

            ‘I came to see what was going on. I read about the disappearance in the paper,’ Dean said. ‘I wanted to make sure you were alright.’

            She smiled. ‘Well thank you, but you really shouldn’t be here,’ she said.

            ‘Why not?’ Dean asked.

            ‘I’ve already told the police about you and your friend,’ she said, rather guiltily. ‘You two were acting very suspicious yesterday.’

            ‘You think we …’ Dean asked, pointing between him and the Mansion.

            She shrugged. ‘I’m not so sure anymore,’ she said. ‘I mean, what kind of idiot shows back up. Not to mention you’re not from around here and these things have been happening a lot.’

            ‘How often?’ Dean asked.

            She shrugged and struggled to think about it. ‘Once every couple of years or so, I think,’ she said. ‘Maybe once a year. They happen quite a lot if you really think about it.’

            Dean nodded. ‘Do you want to go out with me tonight?’ he asked.

            ‘What?’ she said. ‘Tonight? After all of this?’

            He shrugged. ‘No time like the present, right?’ he said, flashing a smile.

            ‘Ok then,’ she said. ‘But you should get out of here before the cops realize I’ve been talking to you. I’ll meet you at the theatre at 7, alright?’

            ‘Sure thing,’ Dean said.

            ‘Now get out of here already,’ she said with a smile. Dean let himself get swatted towards his car and drove back to Sammy.

           

            Sammy spent the day in front of the laptop, doing research on what could possibly be going on around there. Dean showered, cleaned himself up, got lunch, lazed around, and counted down the hours until his date.

            ‘You can’t really ask questions in a theatre,’ Sammy said as Dean was putting on his shoes to leave.

            ‘Maybe that’s just where she wants to meet,’ he replied. ‘I couldn’t stay very long after all.’

            ‘Just don’t forget to ask about the witches. That’s the point, remember,’ Sam said.

            ‘And to get laid, right?’ Dean asked, laughing.

            ‘There are other people to lay you,’ Sam said. Dean caught the scared glance Sammy shot at him.

            ‘But she’s pretty,’ Dean said, trying to move past that. Sammy hadn’t meant to say that. It was just the vocabulary they had been using for so long with each other last time. It was different – he had to keep reminding himself. This is Sam, not Sammy.

            ‘Wish me luck, then,’ Dean said, getting up. He rustled Sam’s hair before leaving.


	5. Sam

Sam sat in the hotel room fidgeting until the thought of Dean being with Victoria started to drive him nuts. Unable to shake the visuals out of his head, he grabbed his coat and a salt gun and walked to the Seven Gables grounds.

            There were no more signs of cops. They probably hadn’t found any indicators of who kidnapped that person. They didn’t know what they were looking for.

            Sam opened the gate to the grounds and walked down the path. He wasn’t sure he should be doing this without his brother, but he couldn’t very well sit in the hotel room any longer. It was just a couple of ghosts, right?

            He went into the foyer of the Turner-Ingersoll Mansion. Good place to start. Most of the reported sightings happened in this building. He went up the stairs slowly to the second floor.

            ‘Julian? Nathaniel?’ Sam called out. The moon let enough light through the large windows to brighten his path. ‘I know you’re responsible for the disappearances.’

            Usually ghosts made their presence known. But, the sightings of the Hawthorne ghosts had been slim and far between. Sam was beginning to doubt whether or not the ghosts were in this house.

            Just as he was going to turn around he caught a glimpse of something in the corner of his eye. He stepped forward, gun poised. ‘Hello?’ he said.

            There in a doorframe was the ghost of a teenage boy – the boy who had disappeared last night. ‘You,’ Sam said.

            ‘Where am I?’ the boy asked quietly. ‘What happened? Where is the kid?’

            ‘What kid?’ Sam asked, not dropping his guard.

            ‘The boy who led me in here,’ the ghost said. ‘He asked if I wanted to see something spooky. That’s all I remember.’

            Sam shrugged his shoulders and tilted his head. The boy had certainly been shown ghosts. ‘Did the boy have a name? Julian?’

            ‘No, it wasn’t that,’ he said. ‘Can I get out of here now?’

            ‘Have you tried?’ Sam asked. If he tried and couldn’t leave, his body was somewhere close, and he could put the kid to rest.

            ‘I think so,’ he said. ‘The boy won’t let me. He said I’m stuck here, seeing ghosts. I haven’t seen any ghosts.’

            ‘Trust me, kid, you’ve seen them,’ Sam said. ‘Where did he lead you? The basement, maybe?’

            The boy shrugged. Before Sam could ask another question he was knocked off his feet and landed several yards away. Without looking, he shot a salt round down the hall. He looked up, nothing. Not even the boy who had disappeared last night.

            ‘Damnit,’ Sam said as he got to his feet. He was pushed onto the ground again. This time he tried to aim before shooting, but there was nothing visible. He was knocked down the hallway, to the stairs. He grabbed onto the railing, lifting himself to his feet.

            ‘No!’ it was the voice of the boy who disappeared. He appeared in front of Sam, fingers locked and resisting something – the ghost that had been knocking Sam around. ‘Go now!’ he shouted back at Sam as he held the invisible ghost at bay.

            Sam ran down the stairs. He needed to call Dean, but he couldn’t do that while in the house.

            ‘I don’t think so,’ a disembodied female voice said and Sam was knocked down the remaining stairs. He looked back but she wasn’t behind him. Up at the top of the stairs, the two ghosts were still locked in combat.

            Hopeless, Sam pulled out his phone, keeping the gun ready. He dialed Dean’s number. It rang a few times and went to voicemail. ‘Dean, I need you. Answer your damn phone! Come to the Seven Gab-’

            He was thrown against the desk. The impact caused his nose to bleed and the phone to fall from his hand. He shot in the air, hoping to hit something, but no luck.

            He dug into his pocket and pulled out a pack of salt. Before he could use it, he was dragged to his feet and flung across the room, hitting the wall with a loud thud.

            How was he supposed to fight ghosts he couldn’t even see? He didn’t even know how many there were. It stood to reason that each disappeared person had been turned into a spirit to haunt the mansion.

            Quickly he dumped the salt in a circle around him. ‘Let’s see you get past that!’ Sam said, holding the gun up, ready for when they appeared to him.

            ‘I don’t think that should be a problem,’ the voice was of a small child’s, and the boy appeared in front of him.

            ‘Julian?’ Sam asked.

            ‘No,’ he said. ‘I am not him, but I’m flattered you think so.’

            He didn’t sound like a seven year old boy. ‘If you’re not Julian than who are you?’ Sam asked. He was the ringleader, likely the first ghost. If Sam knew who he was and could burn his body, then it might be over.

            ‘You know the answer,’ the boy said. ‘You’ve known it from the start. It’s why you burned my body, isn’t it?’

            ‘Nathaniel was nearly 60 when he died,’ Sam said. ‘You’re somebody else. Who are you?’

            ‘I was, yes,’ the boy said. ‘Sometimes death is the best remedy for aging.’

            Sam shot the salt gun, straight into his chest and he disappeared. It would hold him off, but not for long. Sam’s eyes scanned the ground to his phone. It was sitting open a few feet away. He couldn’t get to it without being attacked again.

            ‘Hey!’ Sam shouted. ‘The one who helped me.’

            There was no reply. It was a long shot. The recently deceased could sometimes remember being human at least enough to act like it. The boy who disappeared was likely to break any time soon.

            ‘I’m a ghost, aren’t I?’ said his voice. Sam’s eyes caught him to the left, in the shadows. ‘I can see them all now. They’ve surrounded you. They don’t like you.’

            ‘Yes, you’re a ghost,’ Sam said. ‘But I can help you. All you have to do is get my phone.’

            ‘I can’t,’ the boy said. ‘There are too many of them. They will stop me. Why can’t they hurt you now?’

            ‘The salt,’ Sam explains. Having a rational conversation with a ghost seemed very unusual. ‘Ghosts can’t touch the stuff.’ He looked around for a way out. Anything. Hoping frantically that his phone would ring, that it would be Dean telling him he was on his way. He needed his brother in this.

            ‘I’m so sorry,’ the boy said. ‘I’m sorry.’

            ‘Isn’t there any way you could help me?’ Sam asked, desperate. ‘Anything at all?’

            ‘He can’t help you,’ the little boy said, reappearing. ‘He barely even knows how to function, let alone take on all of us.’

            The room filled with ghosts as they let their presence be known. There were far more of them then Sam would have guessed.


	6. Dean

Dean stood in front of the theatre at 7 waiting for Victoria. He was just about to lose his patience when she rounded the corner. ‘Good of you to make it,’ he said, flashing her a smile.

            ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ve had a busy day with all the excitement at the Gables Mansion. Have you eaten?’

            ‘I thought we were going to see a movie?’ Dean asked, pointing, stupidly, at the theatre he had been standing in front of for the past 20 minutes.

            ‘It was just a place to meet. But I’m starved, so how about we go to dinner first?’ She suggested. ‘Then you can do what you wish with me.’ She flashed him a smile.

            ‘No complaints here,’ Dean replied.

            He followed her down the street to a little, family-owned restaurant. The host took them to their seats and a waitress quickly came to their table.

            ‘What can I get you to drink?’ she asked them.

            Dean quickly looked at the drink menu. His instinct was to get beer, but it was a classy place and beer was not classy. Neither was good old-fashioned Kentucky whiskey.

            ‘I’ll take a glass of Baco Noir,’ Victoria said.

            ‘I’ll have the same,’ Dean decided.

            ‘Didn’t figure you for a wine guy,’ she said as the waitress left.

            Dean shrugged. ‘I’m just full of surprises,’ he said. She smiled and they turned their attentions to their menus. It was an Italian place. Dean wasn’t used to eating anything but burgers and fries.

            The waitress came back with their red wines. ‘Have you decided on your meal, yet?’

            ‘I have,’ Victoria said. ‘Can I get the chicken parmesan?’

            ‘Certainly,’ she said. ‘And for you sir?’

            ‘Um,’ Dean said, quickly running his eyes over the entrées. ‘Can I get … fettuccini alfredo with mushrooms?’

            ‘Certainly,’ the waitress said. She took their menus and left.

            ‘So,’ Victoria said. ‘What brings you to Salem anyway? It wasn’t just to come to the Gables Mansion, was it?’

            ‘You caught me. I heard there was a pretty girl in town and I just had to come and see for myself,’ Dean replied, smiling.

            ‘I’m sure,’ she said. ‘But, really.’         

            ‘Business,’ he said. ‘But my brother is a big ghost fan, so he made me check out the Mansion. That’s what was with all the questions.’

            She nodded. ‘You seemed pretty interested yourself in all of it,’ she said.

            ‘Sam’s rubbed off on me a bit,’ he said. He smiled to himself. A sad smile – remembering.

            ‘What line of business are you in?’ she asked. ‘What business brings someone to Salem of all places?’

            ‘Witches?’ Dean said, smiling, hoping she would think he was joking.

            ‘There’s no such thing as witches,’ she said. ‘Those poor women were brutally and ritually murdered because they were different. They were outcasts, harmless to the people who murdered them. I would hope you wouldn’t joke about such things.’

            ‘My apologies,’ Dean said. ‘You’re rather touchy about the whole thing, aren’t you?’

            ‘I think everyone should be. No one should take the murders of innocent people lightly,’ she said.

            ‘But if they deserved to die?’ Dean asked. ‘That would be alright then, wouldn’t it?’

            ‘I believe in capital punishment, yes,’ she said, eyes narrowing. ‘This is too serious of a conversation. You were talking about your business.’

            ‘I’m a mechanic,’ Dean said quickly. ‘Family business. Dad taught me everything I know.’ He wanted to stay on top of witches. He had to ask her if there were any decedents living around here.

             ‘A mechanic that travels?’ she asked.

            ‘I’m very high in demand,’ Dean replied, flashing her a smile. ‘Now, I know you said there were no witches, but maybe there’s someone I can take my brother to, some descendent of one of the victims who knows a lot about it. I’m sure he would love that.’

            ‘Do you always talk about your brother so much on dates?’ she asked.

            Dean swallowed. He didn’t go on many dates. It was usually just hook-ups, and even then most of his thoughts revolved around his brother. He often imagined the girl he was with as Sammy, hard, muscled. It seemed strange that he didn’t have any interest in projecting Sammy onto men, only women. He enjoyed being with women; he just liked being with his brother more. He didn’t want to be with any other man, nor did he ever think he _would_ be with any other man, despite the missing element his brother had left him with.

            ‘It’s just been the two of us for awhile,’ Dean said. ‘Don’t really have much else to talk about. So about my question?’

            Before she could answer, his phone rang. He took it out of his pocket and put it on silent, letting the machine get it. ‘Speak of the devil,’ he said, placing the now silent phone on the table.

            ‘You don’t want to get it?’ Victoria asked.

            ‘Nah, I’m sure he’s fine,’ Dean said. ‘Besides, I’m with you now, and he knows that.’

            She smiled just as their food arrived.

            Dean took a bite of his. It wasn’t exactly a burger or pie, but it was all right. ‘So did you always want to be a tour guide?’ Dean asked, hoping to come back to the witch conversation.

            She smiled. ‘No, I’m interested in early American settlements and the Salem witch trials. My family is also from around here. It’s why we moved back.’  

            Dean nodded. ‘That’s interesting,’ he said, sounding less interested than he actually was. It would be too easy if she were connected, wouldn’t it? ‘I don’t suppose some of your family members were around during the Trials? Maybe that’s-’

            He stopped, seeing the look on her face. Her eyes were wide and her mouth had fallen open – she was in complete shock.

            ‘I have to go,’ she said, getting up and walking to the door.

            Dean raised an eyebrow and decided to check his voicemail before running after her. He put the phone up to his eyes and pulled out his wallet, slapping down a bill for the meal.

            ‘Dean, I need you. Answer your damn phone! Come to the Seven Gab-’ Sammy’s voice came from the phone. He heard some static and a thud before it died.

            ‘Damnit Sammy,’ Dean whispered under his breath and left the restaurant.

            Dean jumped in the Impala and drove the 5 minutes to the Gables Mansion. He parked haphazardly in front and ran passed the gate.

            He looked up just in time to see Victoria enter the house. It _was_ that easy, then.

            He took out his gun, the silver one with the white accents. Sammy had given it to him before he left for college; the last night.

            He held it at the ready and entered. 


	7. Sam

The door slammed open and Sam looked up, hoping to see Dean. He was very surprised to see Victoria standing there.

            ‘Where’s my brother?’ Sam shouted.

            ‘Is that all you two talk about?’ she asked. ‘Dean wouldn’t shut up about you and now, surrounded by ghosts, the first thing you think about is your brother? If I didn’t know better-

            ‘But you don’t know better,’ Sam heard Dean shout from behind Victoria as his gun went off.

            Blood spattered from Victoria and hit Sam in the face as she fell to her knees. She turned and pinned Dean to the wall.

            ‘Dean!’ Sam shouted, but didn’t move out of the circle. Instead, he shot Victoria with his salt gun.

            ‘That’s not gonna work any better, sweetie,’ Victoria said. ‘Now how about we forget about the salt?’

Sam followed her gaze down to the salt ring on the floor. Slowly the salt started to move and the ghosts drew in.

Sam started shooting at them with the gun, it didn’t do much, there were too many of them. But he wasn’t alone – the boy who hadn’t quite turned yet was grabbing onto ghosts and pushing them back.

‘Let me guess,’ Sam heard his brother say. ‘Witches are real. You were there, and now you’re taking your sweet revenge on all the tourists looking to amuse themselves on your suffering? Do I have that about right?’ Sam would tell he was struggling to breath.

‘Not quite,’ Victoria answered. ‘I am only twenty-four, after all.’

‘Then your great-great grandwitch or something, right?’

‘Getting closer,’ she said. ‘She wasn’t a witch. She had no power, and they murdered her. All because she didn’t fit in to what you people thought was right. The ghosts were already here. Long before I came along, though. I’ve just expanded on it, giving _you_ what you deserve.’ There was anger in her voice. This was entirely too personal, now.

‘Get to her,’ Sam said to the boy. ‘Get to her. You can hold her off.’ He didn’t know if it was true, but it he knew he couldn’t do it.

‘I don’t –’ he started.

‘You have to!’ Sam shouted. ‘You’re the only one who can. Help us. Please!’

With one last pleading look, the boy ducked the ghosts in front of him – they were all too concerned with Sam to care about one wayward ghost – and grabbed onto the witch.

‘Hey, what?’ She said, trying in vain to push him off her. ‘What are you doing? I made you!’

‘You made me into a monster!’ He shouted, holding onto her. Her powers were useless against him.

Sam pushed past the ghosts, who had turned their attention onto Victoria, onto their master. Dean was sitting on the floor, gasping for breath.

‘We need to get out of here, Dean,’ Sam said, crouching down to his brother.

‘We need to end this!’ Dean shouted, grabbing onto his brother for support. Sam pulled him to his feet.

‘How do we do that?’ Sam asked. ‘How do you kill a witch?’

‘How do you get rid of ghosts?’ Dean asked. ‘I’ll bet anything that their bodies are in this building.’

            ‘You want to burn it?’ Sam asked. ‘But … it’s historical, Dean.’

            ‘You got a better idea bright eyes?’ Dean asked.

Sam didn’t. They ran out of the building and Sam followed his brother to the Impala, where they kept the gasoline.

They each grabbed a jug and surrounded the perimeter of the Turner-Ingersoll Mansion. They opened the door to find Victoria trying to fight off the ghosts.

‘You!’ She said as she noticed the boys standing at the door. ‘You’ve ruined everything! These people belong here! _I_ belong here!’

‘And you’re going to stay here,’ Dean said, splashing gasoline into the foyer. Sam followed and they both threw the mostly empty jugs into the room before lighting the whole thing on fire.

 

‘I hate witches,’ Dean said as they entered their motel room. Sammy had driven, as he was still sore from being pinned to the wall and nearly choked to death.

‘You hate all monsters,’ Sam pointed out, closing the door.

‘True,’ Dean said, walking to the bathroom. Sam heard the tap run. ‘But witches, dude. Come on. They suck.’

Sam sat down on his bed and kicked off his shoes. ‘I just hope the fire worked.’

‘The ghosts at least are at rest,’ Dean shouted from the bathroom, his voice hoarse.

‘Yeah,’ Sam replied. ‘Nathaniel was there, burning his corpse didn’t work. But he was a little boy. Do you think that had anything to do with the curse?’

Dean came back into the room, leaving the bathroom light on to brighten up their room. He had kicked off his shoes and socks in the bathroom.

‘Probably. We’ll find out tomorrow, I guess,’ he replied. He had a wet cloth in his hands and came to sit beside his brother at the edge of the bed.

‘Yeah,’ Sam replied. Their knees were almost touching, and Sam resisted the urge to pull Dean in closer. ‘What’s with the towel?’

‘You have bitch blood all over your face,’ Dean said. He reached up, one hand cradling Sam’s head, the other wiping the blood off his face.

Sam had forgotten about that. He closed his eyes and let the familiar hands of his older brother run along his face. The cloth was warm and wet, soothing. Dean was gentle as the blood was still fresh.

Sam opened his eyes as Dean took the warm towel away. ‘There,’ he said. ‘You’re all cleaned up.’ Dean stood up and went back into the bathroom to rinse out the blood on the cloth.

Sam looked down and noticed his shirt was also covered in blood. He looked into the bathroom – his brother was running the water, back turned. Maybe they weren’t over, maybe Dean was just waiting for him to make the first move, like the first time. He took off his shirt and tossed it aside.

Well, if he had to make the first move, then he would. He was tired of not having his brother, wholly.

‘Dean,’ Sam called. Dean turned off the water and turned around. He was about to come into the room, but stopped as he noticed that Sam wasn’t wearing his shirt. ‘Come here for a second, would you?’

‘Uh, sure Sammy,’ Dean said, walking up to his brother. ‘What?’

He was feigning disinterest. That’s all this was. An act. Sam was sure this was the right thing to do. ‘Stop it.’

‘Stop what?’ Dean asked.

Sam reached up and placed a hand around Dean’s neck, fingers playing at his hair. ‘Stop being a jerk all the time,’ Sam replied. He pulled his brother close and their lips locked for the first time in two years. 


	8. Dean

Dean let himself be pulled into the kiss. When their lips locked it was like they were back, fully and completely. He still wasn’t sure that it was the right thing to do. Sam had just lost Jessica, he probably wasn’t ready, but when had him and Sammy ever been the right thing to do?

He pulled back quickly. ‘Sammy…’

‘No, Dean,’ Sammy said. ‘Just please. Forget about the last two years. Forget I left. Forget I lost Jess. I miss you, Dean. I miss all of you. Every inch.’

That was all he needed. His brother was hurting and he’d be damned if he didn’t try to make it just a little bit right.

He ran his hands in Sammy’s hair and pushed him into another kiss. Sam’s kiss had been tender, restrained. Dean couldn’t hold back. Not after two years of hands-off.

He took Sam’s bottom lip into his mouth and bit, soft at first, letting Sammy remember how it felt. His tongue licked the area after each bite, making Sam moan for more. That was what he wanted. He bit harder. Sam gasped, and their tongues met.

Dean took a step forward, turning his brother to the bed, and pushing him down.

Sammy fell with a gasp and looked up at his brother. They were sad eyes, hurt. But he smiled. This was right. This was how it was supped to be.

Dean quickly took off his shirt before leaning in, placing rough kisses on Sam’s lips. He placed one leg up onto the bed and forced Sammy to climb farther.

Dean started trailing kisses down his brother’s neck, letting little moans escape Sam’s lips. ‘Dean,’ he whispered as ran his hands through Dean’s hair.

Dean bit his collarbone in response, letting him know he was there, willing to do anything Sammy asked of him. He kissed and licked to Sam’s nipple. He had missed this. Missed his brother’s body underneath his, missed him moaning at even the slightest touch. It was better than any woman he had ever been with, and he was hoping it was the same for his brother.

Dean’s tongue flicked a nipple and rolled it around in his mouth. Sammy’s grip on his hair tightened and pulled as he gasped. His body tensed and started to thrust upwards, pushing himself into Dean.

Dean licked down the middle of Sam’s torso to his jeans. His tongue played where the denim started, teasing Sammy. ‘Dean, please, no teasing. Just this once. Just do it,’ Sammy begged.

Dean liked it when Sammy begged. Outside of bed, Dean would always let Sammy make the first move, would always listen to him. But once he had permission, Dean loved nothing more than to take control of his little brother.

‘Now that wouldn’t be fair,’ Dean said, before continuing playfully licking Sammy’s stomach, sometimes letting his tongue reach into the space between his jeans and his skin, making Sammy moan more.

‘I. Don’t. Care,’ he said, in between gasps. Dean knew Sammy had the strength to flip him over and do these things right back to him. The fact that he didn’t, though, greatly amused Dean. Sammy wanted it this way. There wasn’t any doubt.

Dean’s hands ran over the denim covering Sammy’s thighs. His thumbs brushed his inner thighs and lightly touched his erection before going to the buttons and undoing them.

‘Yes,’ Sam said. ‘Dean.’ He liked saying the name, Dean thought, liked knowing that it was his big brother touching and licking him. That just turned Dean on more.

Dean slid his fingers under the elastic of Sam’s underwear and pulled both pieces of clothing off.

Now on his knees, he had a very good view of his brother sprawled out underneath him. His eyes were closed, mouth slightly open, his left hand was near his nipple, the one Dean had sucked on, and the other … the other had taken the initiative and was inching towards his cock.

‘None of that,’ Dean said, grabbing Sammy’s wrist and pinning it to the pillow, near his head. ‘Only I get to do that.’ He pinned the other wrist down as well.

‘Dean,’ Sam said. His eyes were open. He looked almost mad. ‘This is mean.’

‘What do you want, then?’ Dean asked, before kissing his brother. He bit Sammy’s lip, not letting him answer for a good long while.

‘I want you,’ Sam said. ‘I need you. Inside me. Dean.’

Dean leaned in and sucked on his brother’s lip. His hips thrust forward, letting him rub up against his brother teasingly through the denim.

At the touch of him against his brother, Dean felt Sam try to wiggle his wrist free, try to dart his hands down to take off Dean’s restricting jeans.

After a few moments of squirming, Dean released his brother and let his hands jump to take off his jeans. He did it surprisingly quickly.

‘Now will you?’ Sammy asked.

‘You didn’t say please,’ Dean said. ‘Have we forgot our manners?’

Dean was pulled into a kiss, this time he let Sammy bite his lip. Hard. His way of saying please. Before he could help it, a moan escaped his lips.

His nails brushed down Sammy’s torso and gripped tight at his hips as his lip was sucked and bit. His cock was pressing up against his brother, threatening to enter. They both moaned.

Dean pulled back. ‘I don’t have…’ Dean said. He hadn’t prepared to have sex with his brother and his supplies were greatly lacking after his brother left.

‘I do,’ Sam said. ‘Of course I do.’

Dean kissed him hard before leaving the bed. _Sammy_ had lube. Sammy had wanted to do this.

‘I…’ Sam said, he swallowed. ‘I picked it up while we were in Jericho.’

Dean stopped looking through Sam’s bag. ‘You got it then?’ Sam looked down guilty. Dean smiled and found what he was looking for, lube and a condom. He hated having to use one with his brother. They had only done it a couple times without, when he was sure that he wasn’t going to get Sammy sick. And those times were fantastic. Being that close to him, being inside him without any barriers.

Dean climbed back on top of his brother and kissed him, letting Sammy grab the supplies from his hand. Sammy always did that part. He opened the condom while their lips were still together and slipped it onto Dean’s erection.

Dean gasped as Sammy’s lubed hand wrapped around him and pumped. This alone would do it for him. Dean bit down on his brother’s neck to prevent it from happening.

Dean brought his hand up to let Sam squeeze some lube onto his fingers. He brought is hand back down and began to slowly circle Sam with his fingers, teasing him, listening to him gasp.

‘Dean, no,’ Sammy said. No teasing. Next time, though, next time it would last for hours and Sammy would have to be teased to get what he wanted.

He gently worked fingers in, Sammy letting out a pleasant moan. First one finger, then two, and finally the third.

‘Yes, Dean,’ Sammy said before their lips locked again. ‘More.’

Dean pulled his fingers out and grasped tightly onto his brother’s hips before inserting himself. Sammy grabbed tightly onto Dean’s hair and they bit each other’s lips.

Sammy was so tight after two years of not doing this. ‘Sammy,’ Dean said. ‘Sammy, don’t ever leave again.’ He began slowly, thrusting softly.

‘No, Dean,’ Sammy said. ‘Harder. Just do it.’ Sammy pressed up hard against his brother’s body. Dean complied and thrust harder, faster.

Dean dug his nails into his brother’s flesh and Sammy moaned loudly as they both reached an orgasm at the same time. They had always done it right at the same time.

Dean placed soft kisses on his brother and waited for Sammy to make him pull out. He never wanted to.

Sam moaned softly, releasing Dean’s hair, and pulled his brother out of him. Their bodies fell together, sticky and sweaty. ‘I’m not leaving this again,’ Sammy said.

**Fin**


End file.
